


What Will I Leave Behind?

by PineappleBob



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Babies, F/M, Feels, I thought of Jaime Tribute videos writing this, Inspired by my being raised Catholic, Not my best, POV Jaime Lannister, Will be Cheesy, a tad bit, but I enjoyed writing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 13:40:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15887169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PineappleBob/pseuds/PineappleBob
Summary: Ser Jaime Lannister, Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, Man Without Honor, seeks to right the wrongs from more than twenty years ago. As the Night King and the Army of the Dead seek the newborn daughters of the White Wolf and the Dragon Queen, Ser Jaime and Ser Jorah stay behind to hold them off.(Prequel for the world of The Dragon's Rose)





	What Will I Leave Behind?

**Author's Note:**

> I feel I could have done this better, so I may update it later. But, enjoy!

Jaime Lannister, Oathbreaker, Kingslayer, Kinslayer, Traitor, Coward. The man who had sat his ass on the Iron Throne, stabbing his friend’s father in the back, and letting his friend’s wife and children be raped and butchered. For years his failure, his broken promise to Rhaegar and his failure to Queen Rhaella, Princess Elia, Princess Rhaenys, and the baby Prince Aegon. Often, he would wake as he went to sleep; crying. The guilt of it all, of failing to save a vibrant and sweet little girl and her brother and mother haunted him.

Little Princess Rhaenys would run around giving flowers to all the Kingsguard, each flower picked specifically for them. She had always given him Chrysanthemums, saying they represented love and loyalty. They were violet colored and reminded Jaime of Rhaenys’s and her father’s eyes. He almost lost his mind when his father’s men brought her’s and her family’s brutalized corpses wrapped in Lannister cloaks. He nearly slaughtered Robert Baratheon, and many times after nearly killed Ser Amory Lorch, the cowardly knight, and Rhaenys’s murderer.

As if his failure could not be enough, the shame he had to endure from not only others, but himself. The gods, or God, or whoever had deemed him fit to suffer and fail more. Forced to be a distant Uncle to his own children and watch them all die one by one. Cosmic justice for Rhaenys that Myrcella, whose temperament was similar to Princess Rhaenys’, died in his arms. Blood pouring out of her nose as the poison slowly drained the life from her. Did Rhaegar punish him for failing to protect his family, so he took his own children from him? Joffrey was a cunt, Jaime would not lie to himself, and an even worse King, his death was perhaps a longtime coming. But, Tommen, sweet Tommen, Jaime should have known that with all of his sins, the gods would never let something good of his to live for long.

And what of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, the man who knighted him. The man would definitely have looked upon him with disgust and shame, and perhaps even put his sword through him for his failure to protect the royal family. Jaime would not have stopped him, he would prefer death over seeing his children and the royal family’s dead bodies in his dreams every night. Princess Rhaenys, he never knew why his father had her killed. Prince Aegon, sadly made sense, but Princess Rhaenys, cute and kind Rhaenys, who would chase her cat around. Why? She would have been much more useful alive, but then again his father, despite how smart he like to think he was, never thought out the consequences. Always concerned with family legacy and eliminating “threats” to his quest for power, and never the effects of his actions fully. He ignored people, thinking fear would keep them in line, but he ignored how even his own treatment of his son, Jaime’s brother Tyrion, would come back to bite him in the end. His father died on the chamber pot, shot full of crossbow bolts. Leaving behind a disgraced Knight, a hated Queen, and an intelligent dwarf of a son intent on destroying his legacy.

His father’s biggest flaw, was his shortsightedness, despite his claims to the contrary. Like the Hydra his wet-nurse and mother used to tell him about as a child. His father would eliminate one “threat” to his power, and two more would rise in its place. Never thinking fully about how his family would hold power after he was gone, due to his actions, most of the realm hated the Lannisters. It would not have lasted long with most noble families, and the smallfolk hating them, to turn against the Lannisters and slaughter them as they did to other families. He felt what sealed House Lannisters’ fate was the killing of the royal family, and most smallfolk whispered about the gods demanding justice for the Targaryen children’s murder. Princess Rhaenys death was both unnecessary and brutal, poor girl was stabbed 50 times by that coward Ser Amory Lorch.

Her death, and that of the rest of her family had been his greatest regret and biggest failure. Lord Veyon was right to call him a coward, for sitting his ass on the Iron Throne, still dazed and confused instead of doing his job, instead of keeping his promise. He should have at least tried and perhaps died protecting Elia and her two children. Hell, he felt he should have died on the Trident with Rhaegar, or with his brothers at the Tower of Joy. But now, the one who his brothers were protecting was here. 

The King Aegon Targaryen, named after his murdered brother, the one the whole realm thought of as Ned Stark’s bastard; Jon Snow. Rhaegar Targaryen’s and Lyanna Stark’s trueborn son. Now married to his Aunt Queen Daenerys Targaryen, and father to her twin girls. Rhaella and Lyanna, both looking like their namesake’s, with even the Dragon Queen being a spitting image of her mother. Even having that Dragon fire that Rhaella would show when defending her children from the Mad King. He would not fail them as he failed the rest of their family. Rhaegar’s sister, son and granddaughters would not suffer what the rest of their family suffered. He swore a silent vow then, once he saw them, and now he intended to keep it as he faced the ancient enemy. 

The threat Jon Snow spoke about was now bearing down on them, charging through long forgotten tunnels towards the keep of Winterfell. The boy he had pushed from the window, another of his great failures and mistakes, had warned that the Night King would come for Rhaegar’s granddaughters, intending to make them his Night Queens. Also warning of underground tunnels and passageways that most people had not known about that they would use to get inside. Thus, they laced it all with wildfire and other traps. They would have to get through him to get to the little girls, but Jaime would not let that happen again, he would not fail here.

Lord Veyon had originally intended to stay behind to allow Queen Daenerys and her babies time to escape, told him to be the one to keep Rhaegar’s family safe. Jaime and Ser Jorah refused, with Jaime telling Lord Veyon that, similar to how he felt, he should have died fighting for Rhaegar on the Trident. Then promptly shoving the Lord out of the room and locking it behind him. Prepared to face the enemy that had this war planned for thousands of years, while men squabbled, schemed and murdered one another.

Now here he stood, with Ser Jorah Mormont, two disgraced knights facing an enemy no one thought real. That he had once ridiculed his new King, Jon Snow, for believing when had first met him all those years ago. He silently cursed himself for failing to notice his similarity to his late friend Rhaegar. Sure the King had his mother’s Stark coloring, but the face, the facial and body structure, the mannerisms and the brooding, all Rhaegar.

He would not fail him as he failed his father. “Well now here we stand, Ser Jorah. Two disgraced Knights prepared to face an enemy that most people still think non-existent. The irony of it all.” Jaime softly chuckled.

Ser Jorah sighed, “Yes, here we stand. Ser Jaime, I want you to know, I enjoyed knocking you on your ass at Lannisport all those years ago.”

For once in a longtime, Ser Jaime laughed, “Listen Mormont, the sun was in my eyes, that’s why you got so lucky. “Ser Jorah then smiled, “If it is but one moment it takes to beat you, Ser Jaime, what does that say about your skill, or mine for that matter?” 

Ser Jaime laughed again, and then responded. “But then, again with moments like those, setting us down the long roads our lives have taken. Who would we be if not for those singular moments? Would we be here now?”

Ser Jorah pondered this for a moment, “Aye, it has been a long road, Ser Jaime, but I feel we are where we are meant to be, in this moment. That no matter our choices in life, we would find ourselves here again each time.”

Ser Jaime smiled sadly, “Aye.” Then they heard the first rumblings and the screeches of the dead as they move through the tunnels. “Here they come,” Ser Jorah declared as he unsheathed his recently made Valyrian steel sword. “And now it begins.” Ser Jaime said as pulled out his sword, Widow’s Wail, thankful for the Valyrian magic giving him a Valyrian steel right hand, that moved and felt like a real hand. Perhaps if all else failed, he could fight the Others with his bare hands.

As the dead burst forth from the barricades made to block the tunnels, Ser Jaime and Ser Jorah immediately worked to slice through the horde coming to them. Despite not having swung a sword with his right hand in years, the muscle memory and feeling came back to him immediately. Widow’s Wail cutting the swaths of dead like butter, and his dragonglass dagger coming in handy from time-to-time.  


The names of all those he had failed motivating him now as he cut down the dead coming at him. Rhaegar, Rhaella, Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon, Arthur, Barristan, Myrcella, Tommen and even Joffrey. Names he would repeat over and over again as the dead kept coming.

But even still, he was beginning to get tired, Ser Jorah more so. But then, the dead stopped coming. They could still hear them moving in the tunnels below, but something was off. As they stood their catching their breath, they realized it felt much colder than it had moments ago, seeing their breath as they breathed.

That was when he saw them, for the first time up close. The Others wore armor that shimmered as they moved and carried weapons of milkglass. But, there pale flesh, and piercing blue eyes that burn like icy stars, was unnerving to say the least as six of them moved towards them. Outside he could hear the sounds of the others retreating from Winterfell, the King on his dragon burning the undead hordes, as the catapults fired wildfire to cover their armies retreat. The castle had still yet to fully evacuate when they had barred the door. Two newborn babes making it harder for a mother to evacuate.

But, with Ser Jaime and Ser Jorah’s holding off the dead, that should provide them enough time to evacuate. The King had wanted the Queen to move back to Dragonstone for her safety and to give birth, but her stubbornness won out and she stayed. But now, the plan was to get the Princesses to Dragonstone.

Ser Jaime and Ser Jorah both knew this was the end of the long road for them, they only hoped that it would mean something. Ser Jaime had always wondered what his legacy would be, what he would leave behind. He had hoped that this day, he could finally, fully atone for his sins. He thought this as the first of the White Walkers approached him, swinging his milkglass sword at him.

Deftly he blocked it, parrying their surprisingly fast blow, before ducking his head and slicing through the White Walker’s midsection. His enemy disintegrating into ice shards that near cut his face. Two more advanced on him, as three approached Ser Jorah. Ser Jorah seemed to have tapped some unknown energy source, for he fought with the ferocity of his sigil as he took on three of the Others.

But Ser Jaime did not have long to look as the two White Walkers attacked him simultaneously, putting Ser Jaime on the defensive back foot. Pushing him further and further back, trying his best to parry the blows that seem to increase in speed and power. The White Walkers moved with great power and swung their mighty swords with unnatural speed. Then, at the same time, they swung at him, he put his sword in his left hand. He blocked one, and then grabbed the blade with his hand. The force of the swing absorbed by his Valyrian steel hand.

The magic of the White Walker seemed to energize his hand, for it held on despite the White Walker’s attempt to pull it with all its unnatural might from his grasp, but held on Ser Jaime did. Pulling the milkglass sword of his opponent to block the other White Walker’s next strike, as he cut through the Walker’s midsection. The ice shards this time cutting his face, but maintaining his focus, he dropped the dead Other’s sword, and rolled his body out of the way to his left. Rising to meet his foe, he felt new energy pulsing through him. As the Other swung at him again, he parried it to his left, and brought his right hand to punch the Other directly in the face. He had not even realized he had brought his hand up to do so, until the White Walker went flying across the banquet hall.

It seemed his hand had a mind of its own, and Ser Jaime only stared, open mouthed at being actually able to punch a White Walker. His King had told how he had tried, but their reflexes were so quick that it was nigh impossible to do so. Ser Jaime quickly thought it would take a magical hand to combat such magical reflexes. But quickly, he regained his combat readiness for Ser Jorah, despite holding his own and even killing one of the Others, was still fighting two at the same time.

Trying to move to quickly to help his comrade, he saw the Walker he had punched stand up with breathtaking speed, picking back up its sword. A large dent was on the left side of its face, and any shock at being punched across the room, was not apparent on its face. But, as before and to the surprise of Ser Jaime, his right hand felt energized as it moved at speed faster than the Walker itself as he parried the Walker’s blows before the Walker was put on the defensive and Jaime parried and quickly decapitated the Walker, shattering again but Ser Jaime covered his face this time.

Small amounts of blood trickled down his face, but then he heard more shattering and turned to see that Ser Jorah had cut downwards through a Walker’s chest. But the other Walker was about to stab Ser Jorah in his side, so Ser Jaime quickly moved and punched the Walker, sending it flying into the wall. Ser Jorah quickly finished it off with a slice to the neck as it moved to get up again.

Now the abandoned Banquet Hall stood silent, the ice shards of the dead walkers everywhere. But they did not have long before more dead poured through in the hall. But both Ser Jaime and Ser Jorah felt energized more so than ever in their lives. Slicing through the dead with ease, as a painter moves his brush along a canvas. Eventually, however, the bodies began to pile up, and movement around the hall became much harder, then another two White Walkers appeared. These appeared different than the ones they had fought before, with different, darker armor. Looking far more ancient as well, if that were possible, and they moved with much more speed and power. They each took one, and Ser Jaime was holding his own, until one of his strikes was parried, and the Walker hit him with the handle of his sword.

Ser Jaime went flying across the room, sliding and hitting the wall with a loud thud. When he looked up, the Walker had it sword raised and quickly come down on Ser Jaime, when a sword pierced through the Walker’s chest. Ser Jorah had run over to save Ser Jaime, pulling his sword out, the Walker was frozen there for a moment, before shattering. Ser Jorah had miraculously held his own against the White Walker. When Ser Jaime had looked at him in questioning and thanks, Ser Jorah gasped, “I got his leg.” Ser Jaime and Ser Jorah caught their breath for a moment, looking around, when Ser Jorah gasped.

Ser Jaime looked and saw three more Walkers standing there, and just then he also heard the faint sound of a dragon land as babies were heard crying out. The one in the middle immediately focused in the direction of the sound, and then Jaime realized that this was no White Walker. But the King of the Others himself, the Night King. He carried a large staff-like weapon, with a large axe blade on the end of it, long and curved like a scythe.

He had two others, his lieutenants’ Ser Jaime thought, this was it. The End. The dead had already attacked King’s Landing. Cersei had blown a large section of it up in her escape, killing a good portion of the army of the dead. But even then, the dead’s ranks began to fill up again, when the dead immediately marched North. Back to Winterfell, where the Night King had apparently set his sights on Rhaegar’s granddaughters.  


As the sounds of the babes began to fade out, Ser Jaime began to breathe easier. The Night King however, looked at him, and as he stared into the Night King’s eyes, he saw nothing but the cold stare of death himself as he looked into those unnatural blue eyes that burned like ice. Yet, Ser Jaime stood strong, even as the Night King’s two lieutenants moved to distract them, so the Night King could try and stop the Princesses escape. Ser Jaime then mustered up his courage, “For Rhaella. For Rhaenys. For Rhaegar.”

He charged toward the Night King, Ser Jorah charging beside him as the other Walkers intercepted them, like their previous opponents they were faster and stronger than the other White Walkers. Ser Jaime, however, matched them, his right hand moving at an unnatural speed to parry and strike at the Walker. He saw an opening and his fisted right hand connected with the Walker’s face, but instead of flying across the room as the others had, it merely stood there. Looking more like it had been slapped than punched by something that would send others across a room.

The White Walker quickly recovered, and looked back at a shocked Jaime with what he thought might be a smirk. Before responding with a punch of his own, sending Jaime flying across the room, hitting the wall. Dazed, he got up slowly to see the Walker brusquely moving towards him, raising his sword to strike him down. Ser Jaime had dropped his sword, but still had his dagger, again as if his right hand had a mind of its own, he instinctively reached for and threw his dragonglass dagger at the Walker. Hitting the Walker in the throat before he crumbled into shards of ice. 

Looking for Widow’s Wail, he found it, only to hear Ser Jorah grunt as an Ice Sword was thrust through his abdomen. Ser Jaime charged forward, and the Walker had just pulled his sword out of Ser Jorah, when he blocked his strike, but Ser Jaime brought his right hand from the handle of Widow’s Wail to punch the Walker in the mouth. Not sending him reeling back, but distracting him enough to break the locking of their blades, and Ser Jaime cut through him. 

As the Walker crumbled, Ser Jaime went to cradle Ser Jorah, grabbing his dagger as he reached him. Then throwing it at the Night King, who deftly blocked it with the armor on his forearm. Ser Jaime could only watch as the dagger bounced off the dark, glittering armor. Then the Night reached behind him and pulled out his axe-staff.

Walking towards them, Ser Jaime helped Ser Jorah to his feet, then stood between him and the Night King. But the Night King deftly grabbed him, and threw him across the room. He landed on a pile of dead wights, his body finally feeling the effects of having been hit across the room several times. Coughing, he looked back to see Ser Jorah square off against the Night King.

Despite his wounds, Ser Jorah engaged in one of the greatest duels Ser Jaime had ever seen. He felt like he was watching Ser Arthur fight against the Smiling Knight again, as for each strike from the Night King Ser Jorah blocked and parried. Even striking out himself as the Night King had to move at his unnatural speed to block and parry Ser Jorah’s blows himself.

Yet, Ser Jorah had been stabbed through the abdomen, and he lost blood to the point that he was now standing on wobbly legs. One hit from the end of the Night King’s axe-staff sent Ser Jorah flying. As he stopped sliding across the room, coughing up blood as he did so, he made to get up again. The Night King moved towards him, but Ser Jaime scrambled from under the pile of bodies to get across the hall to the Night King.

He got up and swung his sword towards the Night King, who moved out of the way with Ser Jaime only nicking his armor. Yet, the Night King had swung at him as well, and Ser Jaime felt a cold burning sensation. He felt blood spill from his clothes and armor, and collapsed to his knees. The Night King looked upon him, and then made for Ser Jorah.

Ser Jorah stood, on wobbly legs, and met the Night King’s cold gaze with one of his own. As grey eyes stared into blue, and the Night King raised his staff and swung down. As it came down, Ser Jaime saw Ser Jorah have a look of acceptance upon him. All he had ever wanted was to serve his Queen, and serve her he did in those final moments. 

Despite her order to the both of them to not face the Others and their undead hordes alone, they did so because in that moment, they knew that this was where their roads had led them. Everything had led up to this moment, and despite his undying, unrequited love for his Queen, Ser Jorah and Ser Jaime felt they must. Ser Jaime could see in Ser Jorah how easy it was to love the Queen, she was fierce, loving and protective. Much like her mother, and that is why they disobeyed her, to die so that she could live on and raise her daughters and all of her future children to come. That they would gladly give their lives for the King and Queen who would give their lives for their people.

That is why they had to live, and why Ser Jorah and Ser Jaime disobeyed their queen. That they were the rulers needed in this land, unselfish, caring and protective and far too good for this world. For as he was taught by his old Septon, those who save their lives will lose them, but all who lose their lives for their fellow man and the gods will save them. Ser Jaime had never understood that until this moment, watching as Ser Jorah was cut down by the Night King with a determined look in his eyes. That this would be his own legacy: sacrifice, love and loyalty.

As the Night King moved back towards him, Ser Jaime pulled his one last trap, a sort of fireball weapon given to him by one of the Children of the Forest. As the Night King grabbed his throat and lifted him up in the air, Ser Jaime held it behind his back, and once he felt it warm up and start crackling, he threw it into the tunnels. Setting off a massive explosion, and even causing the Night King to have a look of shock in his eyes as the wildfire went off.

Then his vision became blurred as what looked like a wall of ice surrounded him from the oncoming explosion. When he came too, the hall was blown as was half the keep, and a Great Wall and pit of Wildfire was consuming the wights, their screams and the sounds of bones clattering filling the exploded hall. He could see snow falling, and the King upon his Dragon Rhaegal fighting the Night King’s undead mount, the late Viserion. They twirled and breathed fire upon one another, even crashing mid-air, as Rhaegal bit his undead brother’s neck. Viserion thrashed around, but it was enough time, for as they broke apart a bolt of dragonglass fired from one of the scorpions hit Viserion at the base of his neck.

He came crashing down, landing in the main courtyard of Winterfell. Ser Jaime looked around and smiled when he noticed that Drogon was nowhere to be seen. For that meant his Queen and the little princesses had escaped. He turned to his side and saw the Night King looking at all of the events unfolding with a look of silent fury. Rhaegal flew by and burned his brother’s body, finally putting him to rest, and then his King dismounted him, walking towards the Night King.

The Dragonwolf’s fury was apparent as he strode towards the Night King, but stopped as the Night King grabbed Ser Jaime by the throat, lifting him off the ground again. Despite Jaime punching him in the face with his magical Valyrian steel hand, the Night King was unfazed. Merely tightening his hold on Ser Jaime’s throat, that left Ser Jaime gasping, and clawing at the Night King’s hand.

Looking at his King one last time, the Night King looked at him, emerald eyes meeting blue orbs. Ser Jaime stared death in the face, and spluttered out a laugh. The Night King even looked annoyed, but swung his axe-staff up and impaled Ser Jaime. He gasped feeling the blade tear through his stomach and back. 

He was thrown off the axe staff, and landed in the snow and mud. The cold slowing his bleeding, but he was coughing out blood and knew that this would be it. He noticed briefly as the Night King and his King, Jon Snow, locked blades and engaged in a duel. Jon Snow moved like his father Rhaegar, but with more speed and power. He did not watch long before his mind went to all those he had lost, and he had asked silently if he had failed again.

But, he had done what he had failed to do nearly twenty years ago, he saved two innocent children from a terrible fate. Saved his Queen, and allowing her the joys of her children now and still to come, and caused an explosion that from what little he could see left a massive dent in the Army of the Dead. He then heard a loud crash, and the snowfall had stopped, everything had stopped. No more screeches of the wights, no more howling, icy winds. He even thought he could hear distant cheers.

As he coughed and bled out in the snow, he thought a ghost had appeared before him. For someone was cradling his wounded body. A Direwolf came by, licking his face and whimpering, but he swore he saw Rhaegar again, looking at him as he held his dying body.

“I’m sorry Rhaegar. -Cough- I am so sorry. I failed you, -Cough- but I tried Rhaegar, -Cough- this time I tried. Did they-cough- make it, are the babies safe, -cough- did I fail you again?” Ser Jaime was beginning to cry, but the ghost smiled sadly upon him. “Yes, my friend, they made it, and the enemy is dead. In no small part thanks to you.”

Ser Jaime gave a small cry of joy, and then begged, “Forgive me Rhaegar, I failed your family. I failed -cough- your sweet mother Rhaella-cough- your wife Elia- cough- and-cough-baby Aegon-cough- I especially failed -cough- sweet, kind little Rhaenys. -cough- Forgive me Rhaegar, I am so sorry -cough- I failed your family. -Cough- I failed you all.” He was spluttering blood out now, and the ghost of Rhaegar looked at him with sadness, “There is nothing to forgive my friend, the world has punished you enough. You have helped to defeat the Others, and you saved my daughters. Rest now my friend.” 

“My daughter, -cough- Myrcella, she was kind like little Rhaenys. -cough- Perhaps in another life they -cough- could have been friends, -cough- I miss her, I miss my -cough- daughter and little Rhaenys.” Ser Jaime was now coughing erratically as the blood filled his throat. His vision was going black as the ghost of Rhaegar told him, “Rest easy now my friend, you deserve it.”

With that, Ser Jaime left this world. Cradled by the son of the man who he had failed. Yet, he was awoken by a voice. A young girl’s voice that he had not heard in a long time. “Come on Cella, I think he is over here. See! I found him!” Ser Jaime sat up, and was welcomed by the sight of his beautiful daughter, and by a little girl. He did not recognize her at first, but the little orange dress, the indigo eyes, bubbling smile and the Dornish look. It was Princess Rhaenys, who ran up and hugged him tightly.

“Hi Ser Jaime! I missed you! Look I even brought you flowers! Cella has them.” With that he looked at his daughter, standing up and hugging the little girl to him, and bringing his daughter into his embrace. Crying profusely, “I am so sorry. I missed you both so much!” Myrcella replied, “I missed you too father.” As she gave him the Chrysanthemums.

The words he had never hoped to hear came forth from her mouth, and he cried even harder. Little Rhaenys patted his face, “Why are you crying Ser Jaime? I did not know Knights could cry?” Looking at her little face scrunched up in confusion, Ser Jaime gave a wet chuckle. “Forgive me Princess, I am sorry. I failed you. I was not there for you when I should have been.” Little Rhaenys had a brief sad look on her face, and then smiled, “It’s okay, I still love you Ser Jaime. You protected my baby brother! What is he like? What about my Aunt, is she strong like Grandma? And the little babies?!”

Ser Jaime merely hugged Princess Rhaenys and his daughter tighter, “They both were the strongest, bravest, kindest, and fiercest people I ever knew. Besides you and yours of course!” With that he tapped Rhaenys on the nose, causing her to burst into giggles, and then he placed a kiss on the crown of Myrcella’s head. “Come on, Ser Jaime, someone wants to see you!” With that she wiggled and squirmed so Ser Jaime put her down, and she grabbed his hand pulling him along. He looked at Myrcella, and she merely smiled and nodded towards the direction Princess Rhaenys was taking them. As they moved across the field, he noticed how warm it felt, but not hot, just the right temperature and the right amount of sunshine.

It was a beautiful day wherever he was, and he decided to sniff the bundle of flowers that Rhaenys had given him. They smelled like summer rain, and Ser Jaime felt content and at peace for the first time since he was held in his mother’s arms. As little Rhaenys pulled on him, he reached out and held Myrcella’s hand. Who grasped his hand in return, “It’s alright father, we know.” Ser Jaime merely nodded his head at the acknowledgement of his shame and regret for his misdeeds.

Then he heard an excited squeal from Rhaenys, “Rolly! He’s here! I found him and brought him here with Cella.” A being of fire appeared before them on a bench near a fountain, and Ser Jaime made to hold Rhaenys back as she moved towards him. But Myrcella stopped him, and as she approached the being, his fires appeared to cool. For a man dressed in simple cloth robes and tunic sat there, as Rhaenys ran up and hugged him. He spoke in a soft, deep, melodic voice, “I can see that little one. Now remember our little plan.” The man said as he kissed the top of Rhaenys’ head, causing her to giggle and run to Ser Jaime, hugging him, “I will be back Ser Jaime, come on Cella!”

As he watched Rhaenys grab onto Myrcella’s hand and run off into another field, he stood there holding the flowers. “Come Ser Jaime! You have many questions I see?” Ser Jaime turned and looked at the figure, he looked like a foreign carpenter. But he oddly felt at ease with the man, so he moved, and sat next to the man as he made room on the bench.

“Who are you?” Ser Jaime queried. The man laughed, “Just like you, I go by many names, but for now you can call me Joshua.” Ser Jaime looked perplexed until he remembered the Red Priestess of R’Hollor. “It’s you, the fire god, R’Hollor! Why? All of the suffering, the burning of people alive by your priests, why?” Ser Jaime felt his anger boiling. Joshua had a sad look upon his face, “No matter how obvious one can make their intentions known, it can still be often misconstrued and ill-executed. As often your own actions and plans appear to be, would you not say Ser Jaime?”

Ser Jaime could say nothing as he pondered what was said, and merely declared, “You still have not really answered my question.” Joshua laughed, “Aye, terrible things happened in the world, it tore at me every time an innocent life was taken. The pain they felt is the pain I felt, as you suffered I suffered. That is the price that parents pay for their children is it not, Ser Jaime?

Ser Jaime was surprised, “Aye, but still a parent should do all they can to stop their child from hurting.” Joshua nodded, “Aye, they can and should, but even then, there must be limits. Sometimes you have to let your children fall, to let them know pain and consequence, so that they can make the best decisions possible. So that they can try and make the world a better place than they left it, a lesson that your son Joffrey and father Tywin failed to learn. Preferring power and dominance, over love, compassion, and the betterment of all.”

Ser Jaime nodded. He stopped for a moment and listened to sounds of the place around them, then asked, “Where are they now?”

“Where they should be, Ser Jaime. But, best not worry about them, another is coming to speak with you, and he has much to say.” Joshua stood up then, “Despite your failings and actions, I know you Ser Jaime, and you are a good man. Even if you prefer not to let people know it. The Sack of King’s Landing was a terrible thing, and the world suffered for it and still is. But, despite your failings and even my warnings, it was inevitable, even had you saved those children, they still would have been hunted or abused, or much worse. Should you have tried to save them? Of course, but what’s done is done now. You have suffered enough, as have they. Now it is time to rest, my boy. You saved many lives, especially those two baby girls who will play a big role in the new era to come, despite the ones that haunted your dreams. Terrible things and deeds have you suffered my son, but there is no such thing as an easy life. You fall and then get back up again. Forgive transgressions, put a little kindness back into the world. Make the best of what you have and help who you can, love who you can.”

“But am I deserving of forgiveness, what did I leave behind except a string of failures, pain and suffering? What will I be remembered for?” He asked Joshua, who smiled as he looked at him, and then towards the field where Rhaenys was running towards them. “Look Papa! He’s here!” And then he saw his old friend, the Silver Prince come out of the field following behind an excited Rhaenys and Myrcella walking beside him. Ser Jaime felt nervous and scared of facing his old friend again, and he looked to Joshua who nodded to the Chrysanthemums.

Joshua smiled, “Love and loyalty, Ser Jaime.”


End file.
